Benign Autocracy

How many things I’ve made that I’ve wanted to change the moment after I made them, wondering why this feeling keeps happening no matter what I’ve made, a painting, a poem, a phone call?

Why do I have this feeling? I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll never know, for what gives me the right to know? It seems I only have the right not to know.

I’ve just made a new painting, but I’m not happy with it. While I was making it I felt like one of Rembrandt’s assistants, assigned by the master to paint the white linen ruffs fashionable men of the time wore around their necks. It seemed I resented the assignment, and Rembrandt himself threatened to replace me if my attitude didn’t improve…

Alas, a good painting must have horizons, horizons are essential, as are buttons, ruffs, the stiff collars of Dutch gentlemen. Boundaries exist for a reason, hence the stanza.